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AUTHOR: 


MACDUFF,  JOHN 


TITLE: 


WELLS  OF  BACA ,  OR 
SOLACES  OF  THE 
CHRISTIAN  MOURNER 


PLACE: 


BOSTON 


DATE: 


1859 


COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARIES 
PRESERVATION  DEPARTMENT 

BIBLIOGRAPHIC  MICROFORM  TARGET 


Master  Negative  # 

^7^^' 90773-/^ 


n 


Original  Material  as  Filmed  -  Existing  Bibliographic  Record 


mfm 


tMacBuff,  John  Ross,  1818-1895.-^^ 

Wells  of  Baca;  or.  Solaces  of  the  Christian 
mourner,  and  other  thoughts  on  bereavement.  By 
the  author  of  "The  faithful  promisor,"  "IJight 
watches,"  <fcc  . . .  From  the  London  edition. 
Boston,  T.  R.  Marvin  &  son,  and  J.  E.  Tilton  & 
CO.;  Philadelphia,  W.  S.  &  A.  Martien,  1859. 
64  p.   14^"^. 


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SOLACES  OF  •THE'  €HRJ5Tip  l^OURNER, 

•  •  •  •••     ^lo'    •     '    ' 


OTHER  THOrCHTS  ON  BEREAVEMENT. 

BT  THE  AUTROK  09 
"THE   FAITHFUL    PROMISER,"  "NIGHT   WATCHES,' 

tec.  Sx. 


•Who   pesaiDg   through  the  valley  of  Baca  (toeeprng),   nuke  it 
•  Wkll."  —  Pealm  IzxxIt.  6. 


FROM  THE  LOXDOV  EDtTIOIT. 


BO  STON: 
T.  R.  MARVIN  &  SON,  AND  J.  E.  TILTON  &  CO. 

PHILADELPHIA  I    W.  S.  &  A.  MARTIEN. 
1859. 


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THE  BEREAVED   CHRISTIAN, 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  CongreM,  in  the  year  1858,  bj 
T.  R.  MARVIN, 

In  the  Clerk'i  Office  of  the  DJrtrict  Court  of  the  District  of 

MatsachuBettB. 


lAii. 


11. 'V.^ 


Ct^'^HXA\— 


MOUBNINO   THE    LOSS 


OF  THOSE  WHO  HAVE  FALLEN 


"ASLEEP  IN  JESUS," 


THIS 


fdhnti  nf  Ippatljii 


IS  INSCRIBED. 


(3) 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

THE  CONTEASr, » 

THE  RETROSPECT, 17 

THE  MAN  OF  SORROWS,  .       .  .       .       .    fl7 

THE  GOURD  .' 37 

THE  FURNACE,  44 

THE  SOLACE, 53 

THE  CROWN, 59 

(4) 


PREFACE 

TO   THE   AMERICAN   EDITION, 


«  Every  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,"  and 
«a  stranger  is  not  permitted  to  intermeddle,"— 
yet  we  are  commanded  to  "  bear  one  another's 
burdens ; "  and  hence  the  law  and  duty  of  human 
sympathy.  While  it  is  true  that  there  is  a  grief 
which  no  human  power  can  relieve,  and  scarcely 
mitigate,  it  is  no  less  true  that  the  subjects  of  such 
grief  are  better  fitted  to  endure  their  sorrow  when 
assured  of  the  tender  sympathy  of  friends,  than 
when  left  to  pine  away  in  lonely  grief.  Expe- 
rience in  the  furnace  of  affliction  is  the  best  pre- 
parative to  enable  us  to  afford  grateful  succor  to 
bereaved  friends. 

It  is  not  well  to  shrink  from  society  and  refuse 
to  be  comforted.  God  chastens  in  love,  and  we 
do  not  wisely  to  close  our  eyes  to  the  proofs  of  his 
goodness,  or  our  ears  to  the  consolatory  sugges- 
tions of  Christian  friendship.  By  excluding  friends, 

(5) 


6 


r££FAC£. 


we  often  debar  ourselves  from  much  valuable 
consolation — while  by  bidding  them  welcome  we 
ofttimes  "  entertain  angels  unawares." 

We  do  well  to  weep  in  affliction,  but  not  to 
abide  in  the  ^^  wells  of  weeping."  We  should 
go  upon  the  Mount  of  Vision  daily,  that  we  may 
see  the  field  of  duty  spread  out  before  us,  and 
may  learn  how  to  honor  God  and  bless  our  race^ 
even  when  smarting  under  the  rod.  Afflictions 
certainly  fail  to  accomplish  what  God  intends 
when  they  lead  us  to  wrap  ourselves  up  in  selfish 
sorrow,  and  neglect  to  perform  what  Providence 
indicates  as  our  duty,  in  the  constant  and  ener- 
getic discharge  of  our  regular  calling. 

Affliction  does  us  good  when  it  burns  off  the 
dross,  and  burnishes  the  gold  for  present  use  and 
beauty.  "  Our  sorrow  becomes  excessive  when 
it  withdraws  the  heart  from  God ;  when  it  drives 
us  from  the  path  of  ordinary  duty ;  when  it  de- 
stroys our  enjoyment  of  the  comforts  which  re- 
main; when  it  impairs  our  sympathy  with  the 
griefs  or  joys  of  others;  when  it  checks  us  in 
prayer,  or  in  the  exercises  of  faith,  and  love,  and 
gratitude  to  our  God  and  Saviour.  Such  feelings 
of  grief  are  evidently  immoderate,  and  ^  such  sor- 
row worketh  death.' " 

The  "Wells  of  Baca"  is  happily  adapted 
to  minister  consolation  to  bruised  and  bleeding 


PREFACE.  i 

hearts.  It  frankly  admits  the  extent  and  depth  of 
their  sorrow,  and  tolerates  a  comparison  between 
their  past  and  present  condition;  it  unfolds  the 
nature  of  affliction,  its  source,  and  intent,  and 
legitimate  effect;  while  the  furnace  is  exposed 
to  view,  the  true  solace  is  plainly  pointed  out, 
and  the  believer's  crown  is  made  to  shine  in  Gos- 
pel purity  and  brilliancy. 

This  little  volume  has  already  afforded  comfort 
to  many  sorrowing  hearts,  and  has  shown  where 
alone  the  aching  heads  of  God's  afflicted  children 
may  find  rest  and  ease.  It  is  republished  at  the 
request  of  one  who  derived  comfort  from  its  peru- 
sal, and  desired  that  it  might  be  reprinted,  that  she 
mi^ht  give  a  copy  to  her  afflicted  friends.  May 
she  — though  now  dead  — be  enabled  by  this 
little  volume  to  address  words  of  consolation  to 
many  stricken  hearts. 

RoxBURY,  December,  1853. 


God   of  the    Mourner!    round  whose    awful 

Throne 
Peal  the  Hosannahs  of  the  Heavenly  Choir! 
Vouchsafe,  in  love,  a  feebler  note  to  own 
Of  Earthly  Minstrelsy !     Do  Thou  inspire 
The  plaintive  chords  of  an  untutor'd  Lyre, 
Touch'd  with  a  trembling  hand  and  tearful  eye  j 
And  if  one  borrow'd  spark  of  sacred  fire 
Should  soothe  a  grief,  or  mitigate  a  sigh, 

The  Glory  all  be  Thine  — Thou  Triune  Deity  ! 

(8) 


Cllt  Cnntrast. 


Who  can  unfold  the  secrets  of  the  heart 

Torn  with  bereavement  ?     Sacred  pangs  are  there 

With  which  a  stranger  dare  not  intermeddle, 

Too  sad  for  utterance,  too  deep  for  tears ! 

Oh !  how  one  blow  can  metamorphose  life ; 

Transmute  into  the  saddest  what  was  once 

The  happiest  Home,  and  open  bleeding  wounds    ^ 

Which  Heaven  alone  can  medicate !     The  Past ! 

What  volumes  that  emphatic  word  contains 

Of  tender  recollections !  hallow'd  hours,— 

Soothing  life's  sorrows -sweetening  its  joys. 

The  Future !     Once  the  calendar  of  bliss. 

Its  firmament  bedeck'd  with  lustrous  stars 

Of  brilliant  promise,  suddenly  eclipsed ; 

Now  treasuring  in  desolate  perspective 

Ills  hitherto  undreaded.     Hear  the  verdict 

Of  the  Bereaved  spirit,  on  a  World 

Invested  once  with  many  nameless  charms, 

But  now  so  sadly  alter'd :-"  That  bright  sun 


10 


THE    CONTRAST. 


May  shine  as  brightly  as  it  did  before — 

Its  light  seems  dim  to  me !    Those  emerald  fields, 

And  crested  hills,  and  undulating  slopes, 

The  shady  groves,  and  softly-murmuring  streams, 

Where  once,  with  joyous  steps,  I  loved  to  rove, 

A  thousand  scenes  and  images  recall 

Of  happier  hours  irrevocably  gone ; 

While  faithful  memory  (sad  chronicler 

Of  bygone  bliss)  invests  the  retrospect 

With  all  but  living  truth.     The  melody 

Of  cherish'd  voices  seems  to  linger  there ; 

Each  sylvan  footpath  has  its  tear  to  claim, 

And  tale  of  buried  love.     Each  rivulet 

Warbles  the  music  of  some  fond  delights 

Ne'er  to  return  again.     Once  how  I  loved 

To  mark  the  changing  year !  each  varying  season 

Revolving  bliss.    The  winter's  blazing  hearth. 

When  the  wild  storm  was  revelling  without. 

Endearing  all  the  more  a  cherish'd  home. 

But  now  in  vain  it  wastes  its  crackling  mirth 

On  the  lone  heart.     More  apposite  appears 

That  sweeping  tempest,  rioting  at  will, 

Winff'd  with  the  thunder— in  its  wild  career 

Bearing  destruction— Nature's  bosom  strewn 


THE   CONTEAST. 


11 


With  trophies  of  its  might.    And  yet,  methinks, 
Its  burden'd  sighs  and  moanings  seem  to  lend 
The  broken  heart  a  sympathy,  which  oft 
A  cold  and  selfish  world  denies !     Or,  when 
The  waning  season's  devastating  blasts 
Of  rude  continuance,  made  the  eye  to  long 
For  the  return  of  spring,  how  once  I  loved 
To  watch  the  footsteps  of  the  new-bom  year ! 
The  Earth  (long  sepulchred)  emerging  from 
The  Grave  of  Winter,  and  her  winding-sheet 
Of  snow  exchanging,  to  be  deck'd  anew 
In  emerald  robes  of  renovated  life. 
The  warbling  choristers  of  wood  and  grove 
That  sung  so  late  their  plaintive  Elegies, 
As  if  Chief- Mourners  o'er  her  Tomb,  again 
Vocal  with  praise !    Ah !  sadly,  strangely  sounds 
To  the  bereaved  heart  such  symphony !    • 
These  tuneless  melodies  by  hill  and  dale, 
Of  pensive  sorrow  latent  chords  awake. 
Which  make  the  bosom  powerless  to  respond 
To  Nature's  joy !    Where  is  the  voice  whose  music 
Was  more  to  me  than  all  the  world  beside  ? 
The  noonday  sun  his  dazzling  lustre  pours. 
These  winged  choristers  now  tune  their  notes 


12 


THE   CONTRAST. 


Around  that  Grave !    The  bursting  loreliness 
Of  the  incipient  year,  seems  but  to  mock 
The  desolated  spirit,  which  is  destined 
To  know  no  spring-time.    Universal  nature 
Starts  from  her  slumber.     But  there  is  one  sleep 
Too  deep  to  be  disturb'd.     One  Ear  remains 
Closed  to  the  summons!     While  th'  imprisoned 

Earth 
Bursts  from  her  wintry  dungeon,  where  the  storm 
And  tempest  (gloomy  warders)  guarded  her, 
This  stern  Custodier  of  captive  millions 
Alone  denies  surrender !     Spring  may  clothe 
The  Churchyard's  sacred  sod  with  fresher  verdure, 
Or  lend  her  glistening  dews  (expressive  tear-drops) 
To  mingle  their  mute  sympathy,  and  wail 
Life's  tender  blossoms  blighted  in  the  bud ; 
But  her  teanimating  voice  in  vain 
Evokes  the  ashes  slumbering  underneath ! 


"  Oh !  happy  peasant !     When  thy  daily  task 
Of  weary  toil  is  over,  how  I  envy 
Thy  cheerful  step  and  artless  rustic  strains, 
(Faithful  exponents!)  oft,  as  homewards  tending 
On  Summer  eve,  to  meet  the  joyous  welcome 


THE  CONTEAST.  It 

To  affluence  oft  denied— the  mirthful  glee 

Of  an  unbroken  circle — word  unknown 

In  many  a  lordly  hall  and  proud  demesne." 

But  hush  these  plaintive  musings — all  thy  tears 
Cannot  weep  back  the  buried !    True,  at  times 
Nature  expression  to  her  brooding  grief 
Must  be  permitted.    Cold  indeed  the  heart 
That  would  presume  the  tribute  to  refuse 
Of  friendship's  tenderness  to  friendship's  worth, 
And  libel  it  unmanliness  to  mourn ! 
There  is  a  sacred  luxury  in  tears 
None  but  the  lacerated  bosom  knows. 
If  Stoical  philosophy  forbid 
Their  gentle  flow,  go  mark  at  Bethany 
The  wondrous  tear-drops  of  the  Man  of  Sorrows. 
Mourner,  be  this  thy  warrant,  ^^  Jesus  Wept !  " 

Yet  be  it  thine  to  check  superfluous  grief; 
And,  if  the  pensive  spirit  love  to  linger 
On  treasured  recollections,  waste  not  thoughts, 
Indulge  not  vain  regrets,  on  happiness 
Beyond  recall ;  but  read  emphatic  lessons 
(For  ever  reading,  yet  how  hard  to  learn!) 


14 


THE   CONTRAST. 


On  Earth^s  delusive  pleasures, — airy  bubbles 
Dancing  their  little  moment  on  the  stream, 
Then  vanishing  for  ever;— plants  which  fade 
(Like  the  recorded  gourd  of  Nineveh) 
Just  when  most  needed ;  breeding  their  own  wonn, 
And,  in  their  freshness,  yielding  to  decay ! 

Go !  estimate  amid  the  humbling  wrecks 
Of  broken  cisterns  and  of  blighted  joys, 
The  worth  of  the  vain  world  which  has  deceived 

thee. 
Strange,  that  it  should  so  long  with  Siren  voice 
Have  lullaby'd  thy  spirit^  weaving  dreams 
Of  visionary  bliss  around  thy  path,  — 
Baseless  enchantments,  ne'er  to  know  fruition ! 
The  World !     'Tis  but  a  synonyme  for  change. 
As  well  recline  thy  head  upon  the  surge, 
The  ever-varying  billow.    Like  the  Dove 
Which,  of  old,  track'd  a  wilderness  of  waves, 
With  weary  pinion  and  with  wailing  cry. 
Roaming  the  waste  to  find  a  leafy  bough 
Whereon  to  set  its  foot ;  so  does  the  Soul 
(Pluming  immortal  pinions  for  the  flight) 
Traverse  the  world's  tumultuous  sea  in  vain 


THE  CONTRAST. 


15 


To  find  a  resting-place  —  "  It  findeth  none ! " 

Life  is  one  scene  of  Tempest !    There  may  be 

Lulls  in  the  sweeping  storm— the  alternations 

Of  cloud  and  sunshine ;  but  no  more  than  gleams : 

Not  the  true  lustre  of  the  fixed  star  j 

Rather  the  fitful  meteoric  glare. 

One  moment  dazzling  with  its  lurid  light. 

The  next  all  dark,  and,  by  the  power  of  contrast, 

Darkness  more  sensible !     E'en  when  the  cup 

Of  life  is  fullest,  is  it  not  enough 

To  mar  its  brightest  hour  of  festive  joy 

(As  did  the  characters  of  living  fire. 

Which  gleam'd  of  old  amid  the  revelries 

Of  Chaldee's  lords)— the  possibility 

That  Death  may  soon,  the  certainty  he  must 

At  some  time  come,  and  write  his  Mene  Tekel 

Upon  the  clay-built  walls  ?    The  tie  to  life 

How  frail !     There  is,  between  us  and  the  grave. 

Nought  but  a  breath !   To-day  the  bark  may  spread 

Her  canvas  to  the  gale ;  all  may  presage 

A  prosperous  voyage,  fann'd  by  gentle  zephyrs. 

One  creaking  plank  the  morrow  may  reveal ! 

Seal'd  is  her  doom ;  the  starting  timber  yields, 

And  down  she  sinks  into  the  eddying  wave, 


16 


THE   CONTKAST. 


A  shatter'd  wreck !     Oh  !  whither  shall  we  flee, 

^Mid  the  convulsion  of  these  thick'ning  storms 

(This  heaving  ocean  of  vicissitude), 

To  find  some  quiet  haven  of  repose 

Safe  from  the  tempest  shock  ?     Lo !  from  an  Ark, 

Riding  triumphant  o'er  the  angry  deep, 

Accents  of  love  proceed !     It  is  the  voice 

Of  an  unchanging  God,  changeless  alone 

Amid  all  change !     Oh,  blessed  hiding-place ! 

As  louder  raged  the  hurricane  of  old, 

And  mightier  was  the  flow  of  gushing  waters 

On  a  submerged  Earth,  the  higher  rose 

Upon  the  bosom  of  the  foaming  surge, 

Proof  to  the  roar  of  elemental  war. 

The  Patriarch's  ark ;  so,  Christian  Mourner !  safe 

Within  thy  Covenant  Shelter,  wave  on  wave 

May  roll  successive  over  thee,  as  if 

The  rifled  fountains  of  the  deep  were  suffer'd 

To  riot  at  their  pleasure ;  but  each  billow 

Uplifts  thee  farther  from  the  Shores  of  Time 

Nearer  thy  God ;  and  as  behind  thou  leav'st 

A  devastated  Earth,  Faith  elevates 

Above  the  wrecks  of  sublunary  bliss, 

And  brings  thee  to  the  golden  gates  of  Heaven ! 


Cbe  fvttraBjitrt. 


Oh  !  selfish  tears !  who  would  unglorify 
The  Sainted  Pilgrim?     His  unruffled  bliss 
Disturb,  and  pluck  the  crown  from  off"  his  brow. 

To  bring  him  back  to  earth? "  We  sorrow  not 

As  those  who  have  no  hope."— Fallen  he  has 
"Asleep  in  Jesus !  "  pillow'd  on  the  bosom 
Of  uncreated  Love!  basking  for  ever 
Beneath  the  sunshine  of  Jehovah's  smile. 
Sorrows  all  ended— wiped  from  every  eye 
The  ling'ring  tear-drop- immortality 
Begun  ;  a  golden  harp,  and  sparkling  crown. 
And  palm  unfading ;  with  Immanuel's  praise 
The  tongue  seraphic— (ever-deep'ning  anthems 
Of  which  imagination  cannot  catch 
The  distant  echo !)     Shall  the  selfishness 
Of  earthly  sorrow  interrupt  that  song. 
Or  break  that  holy  rest  ?    "  Asleep  in  Jesus ! " 
(What  music  in  the  words !)     Hark  to  the  strain 
In  gentle  cadence  stealing  from  the  skies:— 

2  (17)  , 


18 


THE   RETROSrECT. 


'^  Mourners !  why  shed  for  me  mistaken  tears  1 
If  ye  did  love  me,  ye  would  now  rejoice, 
Because  I  said,  I  go  unto  my  Father ! " 

Wondrous  transition  in  life's  closing  hour ! 
The  burden'd  Pilgrim  of  his  Cross  released, 
And  carried  to  his  Crown !     Upon  a  world 
Of  woe,  Earth's  curtain  faUing,  to  arise 
Anew  on  realms  of  glory !     Who,  with  heart 
Unmoved,  can  gaze  upon  the  solemn  scene 
Of  nature's  dissolution  I     Who  forget 
Those  moments  — more    like    hours  — of  dread 

suspense, 
When,  seated  with  a  bursting  tide  of  anguish 
By  the  toss'd  pillow  of  some  loved  one's  couch. 
Watching  the  herald  symptoms  of  the  tomb 
Fast  gathering  around  !     The  Lamp  of  Life 
Is  feebly  flickering ;  upon  the  brink 
Of  a  receding  world  the  Spirit  hovers ; 
The  sand-glass  hastens  to  its  final  grain ! 
'T  is  the  last  struggle !     Yet,  oh !  can  it  be  1 
Nature  recoils  from  the  sad  inference ! 
Fallacious  hope  still  clings-but  clings  in  vain- 
To  every  beat  of  the  exhausted  pulse ! 


THE   RETROSPECT. 


19 


It  i3 — it  is  too  true !     The  conflict's  o'er 

Mourner !  that  moment's  pang  of  agony 

Tongue  ne'er  can  tell,  when  call'd,  with  trembling 

lips, 
A  sad  farewell  to  lisp !  thy  spirit  lone 
Driftinij  on  life's  rude  sea  a  shatter'd  wreck ! 


Yet  tell  me  what  thy  spirit  first  assuaged, 
When  the  fresh  torrent  of  thy  grief  had  spent 
Its  rolling  tears  1     Say,  was  it  not  to  soar 
Upon  the  wings  of  faith,  and  hear  the  voice — 
Silent  on  earth — uniting  in  the  songs 
Of  Heav'n?    That  Saint  has  wept  his  final  tear— 
Heaved  his  last  pang!  — Earth's  closing  draught 

of  sorrow 
Has  been  exhausted ;  open'd  have  these  eyes 
Upon  the  glories  of  a  tearless  world ! 
The  ear  insensible  to  earthly  sounds 
Has  caught  celestial  melody,  and  Death 
Has  proved  the  harbinger  of  endless  bliss,— 
The  Birthday  of  Eternity !     The  hour 
Which  marks  the  close  of  his  existence  here. 
In  truth,  the  Christian's  life  (as  charter'd  heir 
And  denizen  of  Immortality), 


20 


THE   KETKOSrECT. 


THE   RETROSPECT. 


21 


Begins.     And  if  we  festive  keep  the  day 
Of  the  frail  body's  entrance  into  life, 
And  earthly  friends  are  gather'd  in  to  offei 
Their  joyous  gratulations,  shall  it  be 
With  tears  we  celebrate  the  natal  hour 
Of  the  undying  spirit,  entering 
A  Sinless,  Deathless,  Sorrowless  for-ever? 

Earth  may  indulge  in  tears,  but  Heaven  has 

none. 
The  doleful  sackcloth'd  chamber  may  resound 
With  lamentation ;  but  that  sad  farewell 
Has  waken'd  up  a  Jubilee  on  high ; 
And  the  glad  accents  burst  from  every  tongue  :  — 
"  Welcome  an  heir  of  Immortality ! " 

Bereaved  Mother !  mourning  o'er  the  loss 
Of  a  departed  child,  — a  Flower  soon  pluck'd 
(But  not  too  soon  for  glory),  which  distilPd 
Celestial  fragrance  on  thy  path  below, 
Weep  not!  but  let  thy  envied  boast  be  this,— 
<•  I  am  the  parent  of  a  ransom'd  Saint !  " 
Bright  Beacon-light,  set  on  the  Heavenly  shore, 
To  which  in  many  a  deep,  dark  night  of  sorrow. 


Oft    thou  may'st  turn  thine   eye;    its  hallow'd 

radiance 
Cheering  thy  shatter'd  bark  across  the  waves 
Betwixt  thee  intervening  and  the  haven 
Of  thine  eternal  rest !     Thrice  sacred  tie ! 
That  Spirit,  which  delighted  while  on  earth, 
Like  the  magnetic  needle  to  its  pole. 
To  point  thee  oft  to  Jesus,  still  directs 
To  the  same  glorious  Source  of  heavenly  love, 
Of  joy  in  sorrow,  victory  in  death ! 
Oh !  is  it  no  incentive  when  thou  think'st 
That  in  the  lustrous  crowd  of  Witnesses 
Which  line  the  battlements  on  high,  are  those 
Who  lighted  once  with  their  perennial  smile 
This  wilderness— still  from  their  lofty  seats, 
Stooping  to  woo  us  with  their  crowns  of  bliss? 
The  Bride  says,  "Come!"— A  sweetly-mingled 

voice 
Of  sainted  Parents  — Brothers,  Sisters— Friends, 

Stealing  in  holy  music  from  the  skies 

(In  the  soft  whispers  of  celestial  love). 

And  telling,  though  they  "  cannot  come  to  us," 

There  is  a  meeting-place  in  brighter  climes, 

Which  knows  no  parting ! 


22 


THE   RETROSrECl'. 


To  that  ransom'd  one, 
The   "why"  and  "wherefore"  of  God's  mystic 

dealings, 
Already  is  unfolded :  That  which  clothed 
An  earthly  home  in  sadness,  will  to  him 
Radiant  be  now  with  cov'nant  love ;  great  ends 
And  righteous  purposes  therein  reveal'd, 
Almost  by  intuition,  which  will  give 
New  matter  and  new  theme  for  endless  praise ' 
While  we,  short-sighted  mortals,  "  through  a  glass 
Darkly  beholding,"  ofteil  thus  exclaim  : 
"  Great  God !  thy  judgments  are  a  mighty  deep ! " 
Oh !  as  the  glorified  behold  His  ways 
Seen  in  the  Mirror  of  Eternity, 
It  is  the  golden  harp  with  bolder  hand 
To  sweep,  and  swell  the  chorus  of  the  Skies, 
"  All  Holy !  Holy !  Holy !  is  the  Lord !  " 


But  if  the  Spirit's  blessedness  be  such. 
What  of  the  body  1  —  mortal  tenement 
(Mortal  and  frail),  yet  loved  — oh!  yes,  how  loved ! 
Each  feature  pencilPd  as  with  living  light 
On  the  Soul's  tablets  ineffaceable. 
Smiles  that  can  never  die !     Say,  can  it  be 


THE   EETEOSPECT. 


23 


That  all  now  left  of  these  is  memory  ? 

Say,  as  thou  stood'st  amid  the  crowd  of  Mourners 

Around  the  silent  grave,  busied  each  eye 

Writing  with  tears  a  deeper  epitaph 

Than  human  hand  e'er  wrote  or  chisel  traced  \ 

When  the  descending  earth  (as  if  it  joined 

With  hollow  voice  to  chaunt  the  requiem) 

Drew  the  dull  echo  from  the  coffin-lid, 

Proclaiming  that  the  "dust  had  now  return'd 

To  dust !  "     Say,  was  that  death-sound  a  farewell 

That  closed  your  eyes  for  ever  on  the  form 

You  cherish'd  once  so  fondly ?  — God  forbid! 

That  crumbling  framework  crumbles  but  to  live ! 

Immanuel's  blood,  which  bought  the  Soul,  has  paid 

The  ransom  of  the  body.     Does  not  faith 

The  startling  notes  anticipate,— the  trump 

Which  is  to  wake  the  echoes  of  the  world, 

And  from  their  mansions,  mould'ring  in  cold  clay. 

Evoke  the  slumb'ring  myriads '?     The  dust 

Of  ages  lives !     "  With  Immortality 

The  mortal's  clothed,"  and  "  swallow'd  up  is  Death 

In  Victory  !  "    The  Body  "  sleeps^'  yet  not 

In  an  eternal  night— (cheerless  extinction 

That  knows  no  morn  !)-But  like  the  chrysalis 


24 


THE  KETROSPECT. 


Lying  embedded  in  its  torpid  shell, 

Escaping  winter  storms  to  burst  anew 

With  wings  expanded  in  the  glorious  light 

Of  an  unclouded  Summer;  from  the  flowers 

Which  bloom  unfading  loveliness,  to  cull 

Immortal  fragrance !     Say  not,  then,  that  o'er 

The  dying  moments  of  thy  Friend  was  wept 

A  last  adieu,  and  that  the  heavy  word 

"  Farewell ! "    w^as    burden'd    with    the    awful 

thought, — 
"  This  parting  is  for  ever?''     Say  not,  there 
Thou  didst  receive  the  closing  look  of  love ; 
And  that  the  grasp  which  told  of  an  affection 
Death  could  not  quench,  was  to  be  felt  no  more ! 
No !  for  these  clay-cold  lips  with  deathless  smiles 
Shall  be  relighted,  and  these  rayless  eyes ! 
And  with  a  glorious  similitude 
Each  feature  shall  remind  thee  of  earth's  love, 
With  this  distinction,  that  they  cannot  fade  ! 
Tliine  ears,  once  more,  shall  listen  to  the  voice 
Wliose  music  soothed  thee  oft  below,  attuned 
For  higher  themes  and  loftier  minstrelsy ; 
Hand  link'd  in  hand,  climbing  the  upward  steep 
Of  Zion  hill,  with  mutual  joy  recounting 


THE  RETROSPECT. 


25 


Jehovah's  dealings,  since  the  day  which  sever'd 
Earth's  bonds  of  love.    But,  oh !  the  rapt'rous  Miss, 
To  think  these  bonds  can  now  no  more  be  broken ! 
Exulting  in  espousals  which  can  know 
No  dissolution ;  underneath  the  throne 
Bathed  in  the  full-orb'd  glory  of  your  God ! 

I  love  to  think  of  this  identity 
Between  the  Saint  on  earth  and  Saint  in  heaven. 
That  soul  and  body  (only  glorified 
And  liberate  from  sin)  shall  rise  the  same 
As  once  they  moved  while  here !     Each  holy  trait 
Which  may  adorn  the  character  below,— 
The  tenderness  and  love  of  guileless  nature,— 
Shall  not  be  lost,  but  made  susceptible 
Of  infinite  progression,  shall  attain 
Their  full  development.     That  sacred  glow 
Of  sensibility  which  shed  on  earth 
A  halo  round  the  spirit:— warm  emotions, 
Once  lavish'd  on  the  creature  of  a  day, — 
Shall  with  increasing  fervour  gravitate 
Towards  the  great  Creator !     Intellect 
With  energies  immortal,  fathoming 
Terfections  infmite— Redeeming  Love! 
Uniting  in  the  anthem-peal,  whose  thunders 


26 


THE  RETROSrECT. 


Ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  voices  swell, 
«  Worthy  the  Lamb  !  " 

Repose,  then,  Precious  clay ! 
Thou  art  in  safer  custody  than  mine, 
The  purchase  of  atoning  blood !     What  though 
The  sods  of  earth  now  cover  thee,  and  rage 
The  elements  around  thee  ?     Angels  watch 
The  sleeping  dust ;  nay.  more,  Omnipotence 
Is  th'  invisible  Guardian  of  thy  tomb ! 
Jesus  !  The  IVlighty  Conqueror  of  Death, 
Who  feh  its  pow'r  and  pluck'd  its  sting  away, 
Drying  our  tears,  addresses  us  in  words 
Which  glow  with  immortality :  "  Fear  not ! 
For  I  am  He  that  liveth  and  was  dead. 
Behold !  I  am  alive  forevermore  : 
And  in  my  hand  retain  the  Keys  of  Death !  " 
Then  looking  forward  through  the  dim  perspective 
Of  this  dark  Vale  of  weeping,  let  the  eye 
Rest  on  the  splendours  of  that  cloudless  morn, 
When  the  Archangel's  pealing  notes  shall  startle 
A  slumb'ring  earth ;  the  Sea  and  Land  restore 
At  the  loud  summons  what  they  hold  in  trust, 
And  o'er  a  renovated  world  resound 
The  paeans  of  Eternal  Victory ! 


eljB  Blau  nf  ^nrrntns. 


Oh  !  Blessed  Solace  !    'Tis  a  Father's  rod- 
No  rod  of  wrath,  but  of  unchanging  love. 
No  stroke  inflicted  which  He  could  have  spared! 
Infinite  Wisdom  has  with  Love  combined 
To  make  the  blow  accomplish— and  no  more- 
Its  salutary  End.     A  Father's  rod ! 
The  thought  represses  ev'ry  falling  tear, 
Checks  ev'ry  murmur,  mitigates  each  pang. 
Unerring  parent!  — Mourner!  can  you  doubt 
His  Faithfulness  1     Then  look  to  Calvary ! 
Behold  that  bleeding,  dying  Lamb  of  God ! 
'T  was -love  for    Thee  that  sent   Him  from   His 

throne. 
The  bosom  of  Paternal  love  (whereon 
His  head  was  pillow'd  from  Eternity), 
And  nail'd  Him  there !  '  Twas  love  for  thee  evoked 
The  fearful  summons  from  the  lips  of  Justice : 
"Awake,  0  sword !  "  and  the  avenging  weapon 
Refused  to  slumber  in  its  sheath,  till  drench'd 


28 


THE  MAN  OF  SORROWS. 


THE  MAN  OF  SORROWS. 


29 


In  blood  to  which  Divinity  gave  worth ! 
Omnipotence  Itself  (to  speak  with  awe) 
Could,  of  supreme  affection,  give  no  pledge 
Richer  than  this.     And  dare  we  entertain 
The  thought,  that  He,  whose  nature  and  whose 

name 
Is  Love,  —  could  send  us  one  superfluous  pang, 
Impose  a  needless  burden,  or  permit 
The  thorn  to  pierce.  He  knew  would  pierce  in 

vain  ? 
That  Cross  becomes  the  blessed  guarantee 
That  all  is  needed  !     Mercy  infinite 
Prevents  one  drop  from  mingling  in  the  cup 
Which  could  have  been  withheld.     Thou  God  of 

Love ! 
Vouchsafe  us  grace  to  bow  beneath  Thy  Rod ; 
And    breathe   (although   it  be   through  burning 

tears, 
And  half-choked  utterance)  —  "  Thy  will  be  done ! " 
"  Even  so,  Father !  for  it  seemeth  good 
To  Thee !  '*'—  And,  oh !  forbid  that  whatsoe'er 
Thy  Wisdom  may  appoint,  should  from  our  hearts 
Draw  one  repining  or  rebellious  sigh. 
"  I  will  be  dumb,  and  open  not  my  mouth, 


Because  Thou  didst  it !  "—and  it  mustbe  well— 
"Although  Thou  slay  me,  yet  I'll  trust  in  Thee ! " 

Oh !  Holy  I^Ian  of  Sorrows !  dare  I  breathe 
One  murmuring  sentence?     What  this  Cross  of 

mine 
Beside  that  Cross  Thou  didst  endure  for  me  ? 
A  few  brief  tears  and  transient  sufferings 
Compose  my  sum  of  trials ;  but  Thy  woes 
Claim,  as  exponents.  Mighty  drops  of  Blood ! 
Unanswerable  challenge  from  the  lips 
Of  the  Almightiest  of  all  Sufferers, 
'•  Was  ever  any  sorrow  like  to  Mine  ?  " 
Atllicted  Mourner !  bitter  though  the  cup 
Which  thou  art  call'd  to  drink  —  "  consider  Him  " 
Who  drain'd  the  wine-cup  of  His  Father's  wTath ; 
Wliilst  from  His  anguish'd  Soul  was  wrung  the  cry 
Which  robed  the  Sun  in  sackcloth,  and  made  Earth 
Affrighted  heave  convulsive  to  her  core. 
As  if  her  pillars  trembled  to  support 
The  Cross  where  hung  her  Maker !     What  are 
The  complex  suff 'rings  of  a  suffering  world? 
Dust  in  the  balance  when  compared  to  this ! 
Mournful  howe'er  thy  history,  although 


80 


THE  MAN  OF  SORROWS. 


THE  MAN  OF  SORROWS. 


31 


li 


rii 


^Tis  written  {like  the  plaintive  prophet's  roll) 
In  characters  of  mourning  and  of  woe, 
Telling  of  rifled  households  —  aching  hearts — 
The  tear  scarce  dried  when  calPd  to  flow  again ;  — 
Yet,  what  thy  gloomiest  seasons,  when  compared 
With  the  Cimmerian  darkness  which  impall'd 
His  agonised  bosom] — when  the  Sun 
Of  Deity  was  shrouded  in  eclipse, 
And  hid  the  countenance  which  from  Eternity 
Beam'd  love  ineflable  !     Oh,  Child  of  God  ! 
Ne'er  can  there  issue  from  thy  quiv'ring  lips 
The  anguish'd  cry  which  once  arose  from-//is — 
"Tlii/  God!  why  thus  hast  Thou  forsaken  Me  ? '' 

Yes,  Mourner !  thou  hast  still  thy  Cov'nant  God. 
Die  whoe'er  may,  He  lives!  —  That  thought  is 

bliss ! 
Amid  the  ruins  of  thine  Earthly  joys, 
This  portion  still  survives —  Omnipotence  ! 
And  surely,  with  a  portion  such  as  this. 
Thou  need'st  no  other !     Blessed  compensation ! 
When  the  Eternal  God  the  cistern  shivers, 
That  He,  the  blessed  Fountain-head,  may  come 
To  take  its  place,  and  be  the  "  All  in  all ! " 


Behold,  there  sits  upon  the  throne  of  Heaven 
A  sj-mpathising  "Kinsman  !  "     Not  a  pang 
Can  rend  thy  bosom,  but  He  felt  tiie  same ! 
In  all  thy  sufl^erings,  think  that  "  Jesus  suff'er'd  !  '• 
In  all  thy  tears,  remember  "  Jesus  Wept !  " 
Rejoice— the  pulses  of  that  Mighty  Heart 
Upwards  in  glory,  vibrate  to  ihine  own 
Responsive;  and  though  inaccessible 
He  sits  enthroned,  and  myriad  ransom'd  ones. 
Casting  their  blood-bought  crowns  before  His  feet, 
Swell  the  loud  anthem,  '•  Worthy  is  the  Lamb  !  " 
Vet  undergoes  no  change  that  Heart  of  Love, 
Nor,  'mid  the  blaze  of  glory,  can  forget 
One  Pilgrim  Suflferer !     Those  eyes  that  shed 
O'er  human  grave  a  flood  of  human  tears, 
Still  look  with  pity  on  this  desert  world ; 
And  Bethany's  Chief  Mourner  still  is  thine ! 

Go !  search  the  catalogue  of  human  woes, 
And  say  what  Cross  there  can  be  laid  on  thee, 
The  Man  of  Sorrows  felt  not?     Calumny— 
Reproach — Ingratitude — the  death  of  loved — 
The  treachery  of  trusted  followers — 
Faithless  desertion  of  His  tried  disciples, 


32 


THE  MAN   OF  SORROWS. 


THE  MAN  OF  SORROWS. 


3S 


When  iicedecl  most.     Behold  Him  forced  to  beg 
A  cup  of  Water  from  the  profligate  ^ 

H^  ransom'd  with  His  blood  !     See  Poverty      " 
His  only  birthright !     Houseless  wanderer ! 
Oft  His  nnpillow'd  head  denied  repose. 
While   foxes   had   their  holes  — the   birds   their 

nests  — 
Oft  was  the  mount  His  home,  His  couch  the  sod, 
His  canopy  the  Sky!  —  Behold  His  Soul, 
Bowing  in  anguish  underneath  a  woe 
Tongue  cannot  tell,  when  o'er  him  burst  a  cloud 
Surcharged  and  blacken'd  with  His  "  Father's  " 

wrath ! 
Behold  Him  nail'd  in  anguish  to  the  Tree ! 
Mark  the  convulsive  throb  —  the  closing  eye  — 
The  quiv'ring  lip  —  and  the  expiring  groan  ! 
Messiah  dies  !  —  Is  not  the  hour  of  death 
Thus  sanctified  by  Death's  great  Conqueror, 
Who,  as  he  vanquish'd,  felt  Himself  the  sting 
He  died  to  pluck  away?     Who,  then,  can  dread 
To  meet  the  foe  their  Lord  hath  overcome  1 
Who  on  the  willows  of  the  grave  can  hang 
His  Harp  disconsolate  ?     Tuned  are  its  chords 
By  this  Almighty  Sufferer,  to  w^ords 


Whose  sweetest  melody  in  this  consists, 

That  He  that  path  has  trod  ! : — "  Yea,  though 

the  Vale 
Of  death  alone  I  tread— (yet  not  alone, 
For  Thou  art  with  me)  —  I  shall  fear  no  ill; 
Thy  rod  and  staff  shall  comfort  me ! " 

I  love 
To  think,  as  King  of  kings,  upon  the  Throne 
Of  Universal  Empire  seated  is 
The  God-Man  Mediator!- With  the  Roll 
Of  Mystic  Providence  committed  safe 
Into  HIS  hands !     In  all  His  vast  domain 
Nothing  too  great  to  be  beyond  His  sway. 
Nothing  too  mean  to  be  beneath  His  care ! 
Wliile  it  is  He  who  wheels  in  reahns  of  ether 
Worlds    upon  worlds  j    gives  to  the  wand'ring 

comet 
Its  tortuous  course,  tracking  immensity. 
In  cycles  measuring  a  thousand  years ; 
'Tis  He  who  "  feeds  the  ravens  when  they  cry," 
Pencils  the  hue  of  ev'ry  desert  flower; 
Its  summer  verdure  upon  ev'ry  blade 
Of  grass  bestows ;  of  ev'ry  forest  leaf 

3 


34 


THE  MAN  OF  SOEEOWS. 


THE  MAN  OF  SOEROWS. 


35 


i  I 


The  fall  He  watches ;  and  of  ev'ry  pulse 

He  marks  the  beat !     The  swarming  myriads 

In  boundless  space  each  movement  owe  to  Him, 

From  the  small  insect  fluttering  in  the  breeze, 

Up  to  the  waving  of  the  Angels'  wings 

Before  the  Throne  !     Away !  ye  votaries 

That  raise  your  altar  to  an  "  Unknown  God  ! " 

Ye  deify  as  Chance  and  Accident, 

And  call  His  will  "  inexorable  fate ! " 

There  is  no  chance-work  in  the  oracle 

Of  Righteous  Heaven !  —  Each  high  behest  comes 

forth 
The  Ordination  and  Supreme  decree 
Of  Wisdom,  Love,  and  Mercy  infinite ! 
The  Parent  mourns  his  Child's  untimely  end 
With  aching  heart;  —  the  idol  of  his  bosom 
Snatch'd  from  him  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye ! 
Was  it  the  lightning-flash  that  struck  him  down? 
Traced  was  the  lightning's  winged  path  by  God ! 
Was  it  the  waves  engulph'd  him  ?     Every  billow 
RolPd  at  the  bidding  of  Omnipotence  ! 
Was  it  disease  that  hurried  him  away  ? 
The  worm  unseen  which  sapped  the  treasured 

gourd, 


Was  sent  by  Him  !     This  is  the  history 

Of  every  death:  "The  suffering  Grod  ordain'd— 

Prepared  the  sable  shroud — and  dug  the  grave !  " 

Our  times  are  in  His  hands,  and  at  the  hour 

He  thinks  befitting,  but  no  sooner,  He 

Our  Breath  recalls. — 'Tis  His  prerogative 

To  do  with  us  and  ours  as  pleaseth  Him ; 

We  could  not  be  in  safer  custody. 

Jesus  our  Shepherd !  —  choosing  us  our  pasture, 

Selecting  with  unerring  faithfulness 

And  tender  love,  for  each  their  earthly  lot. 

Left  to  ourselves,  how  oft  might  we  incline 

To  choose  the  evil  and  refuse  the  good ! 

Christian !  rejoice  that  though  His  way  may  seem 

Often  mysterious,  as  He  led  His  Saints 

Of  old,  He  leads  thee  still,  in  faithfulness. 

Trust  Him  in  darkness  !     He  will  vindicate 

All  his  procedure,  and  receive  at  last 

The  homage  from  ten  thousand  thousand  tongues, 

"  Righteous  art  Thou !  0  Lord  ! " 

Exalted  Jesus  I 
Wielding  Creation's  sceptre,  unto  whom 
Can  I  commit  my  everlasting  all. 


36 


THE  MAN  OF  SORROWS. 


• 


If  not  to  Thee  ?     How  wondrously  uniting 

Divinity  with  Human  tenderness ! 

While  myriad  Angels  from  Eternity 

Adored  Thee,  fearless  in  Thine  arms  there  smiled 

The  helpless  Babe !     Amid  a  varying  world, 

Thyself  alone  continuing  unchanged ; 

Among  the  faithless,  Faithful  to  the  last ! 

^*  Thou,  for  Adversity  the  Brother  born," 

"  The  Friend  that  cleaveth  closer  than  a  Brother ! " 

His  not  a  formal  world's  cold  interchange 

Of  sympathy  (unworthy  of  the  name) ; 

Into  our  every  sorrow  He  can  enter 

With  sensibilities  none  else  can  feel. 

Oh !  blessed  thought !  ImmanuePs  heart  combines 

The  Might  of  Godhead  with  Humanity 

In  all  its  tenderness.    The  God  who  counts 

The  number  of  the  stars,  can  also  count 

The  number  of  my  sorrows,  for  Himself 

Has  felt  them  all !     The  mightiest  of  all  Beings 

Is  thus  the  kindest !     I  can  upwards  look 

In  trembling  transport  to  His  throne,  and  say, 

"  God !  yet  my  Brother !    Brother !  yet  my  God ! '' 


t  fntirt 


God  18  a  Jealous  God,  and  cannot  give 

His  Glory  to  another !     Earthly  love 

Must  be  subordinate  to  that  of  Heaven, 

Or  else  must  die !     The  throne  of  the  affections 

Must  be  surrender'd  to  the  King  of  kings, 

And  can  admit  no  rival  occupant  j 

Omnipotence  must  legislate  supreme. 

And  be  the  All  in  All !     The  earthly  Gourd 

It  is  permitted  thee  to  cherish  fondly, 

But  not  too  fondly; — to  be  glad  for  it; 

But  warning  accents  from  the  blighted  booth 

Of  Nineveh,  forbid  thee  to  be  glad 

"  Exceedingly."    If  treasured  as  the  pledge 

Of  thy  Creator's  love,  then  all  is  well ; 

The  boon  attains  the  end  for  which  bestow'd,— 

The  Giver  glorified !    But  when  it  tends 

(ST) 


38 


THE  GOURD. 


THE  GOUBD. 


39 


To  alienate  affections  which  are  His, 
SeaPd  is  its  doom,  and  bows  the  cumberer 
Before  the  wing6d  sentence,  "  Cut  it  down ! " 
How  oft,  in  one  brief  day,  the  canker-worm 
Has  thus  perform'd  its  work,  and  round  the  bower 
Of  earthly  bliss  lie  strewn  the  sad  rebukes 
Of  overweening  love  —  the  withered  blossoms 
Cherish'd  too  fondly !     Traitor  to  thy  trust ! 
Thou  didst    receive    thy   Gourd    to   draw    thee 

upwards  j 
It  wedded  thee  to  earth,  and  therefore  fell ! 
Thou  must  be  taught  by  the  severest  lessons. 
That  God  permits  of  no  competing  love :  — 
"  The  idol  must  be  utterly  abolish'd  ! " 

How  many  bleeding  bosoms  have  been  opened 
By  these  clay-idols,  Dagons  that  must  fall 
Before  the  ark !     Unless  we  rather  choose 
(Fearful  alternative !)  that  God  give  place 
To  these  our  Dagons,  and  thus  forfeit  Heav'n 
For  some  poor  child  of  ^ust.     Christian !  rejoice. 
That  the  decision  of  this  question  lies 
Not  with  thyself;  or  else,  alas !  how  oft 
Imperishable  interests  would  be  made 


Do  homage  at  some  shrine  of  creature-love  !— 
The  altar  kiss  of  some  clay-deity, 
And  barter  iiimiortality  for  Time  ! 

Thy  Gourd  has  fallen !    Yet  had  its  kindly  shade 
Been  spared  for  future  years  to  bless  thy  bower, 
It  would  have  lived  but  only  to  decay. 
Those  bursting  buds  and  blossoms,  early  plucked 
( Say  not  too  early),  would  at  last  have  dropp'd 
As  withered  flowers.     Let  the  Great  Husbandman 
Select  the  time  to  take  His  own ;  and  if 
For  transplantation  He  may  deem  it  fit. 
Before  the  chilling  frosts  of  life  have  nipp'd  it, 
Would'st  thou  retain  it  longer  in  the  blasts 
Of  an  ungenial  clime  ?     Be  thine  to  praise  Him, 
That,  in  selecting  for  the  severing  blow. 
He  took  the  ripest  for  Himself.     The  tree 
Mark'd  for  the  axe  was  not  the  cumberer — 
The  leafless,  fruitless,  unproductive  one. 
Fit  fuel  for  the  fire :   No,— /t  is  spared 
(In  mercy  spared),  to  see  if,  peradventure, 
The  sharp  incisions  of  the  pruning-knife 
May  fructify  its  boughs.    'Tis  the  exotic 
Which  has  been  taken  to  a  kindlier  soil, 


-"T 


40 


THE  GOUKD. 


THE  GOURD. 


41 


To  bloom  unfading  in  far  happier  climes, 
Where  tempest  is  unknown !    Think  of  the  storms 
That  tender  sapling  has  in  love  been  saved ; 
Although,  perchance,  unfretted  vrith  a  cloud 
Up  to  the  hour  it  fell ;  who  could  predict 
What  might  be  brooding  in  the  far  horizon,  — 
What  travailings  and  sorrows  might  be  pent 
Within  the  womb  of  Time  ?     Who  could  foretell 
That  ere  to-morrow's  sun  had  run  his  race, 
Some    hurricane,    now  slumb'ring,  forth    might 

speed 
In  giant  might,  its  footsteps  track'd  with  woe, 
Blighting  all  loveliness ;  reminding  us 
That  cloudless  sunshine  trusted  cannot  be 
On  this  side  Heav'n  ? 

Then  weep  not ;  but  alike 
Adore  a  "  taking  "  and  a  "  giving  "  God. 
Deem  not  these  blossoms  prematurely  pluck'd. 
Let  those  who  make  this  fleeting  earth  their  all, 
And  its  horizon  bound  their  happiness, 
Talk  of  untimely  Graves  !     No  flower  can  drop 
Too  soon,  if  ripe  for  glory.     Early  pluck'd, 
Is  early  bliss.    If  the  great  clock  of  time 


Has  in  life's  dawn  of  morning  toll'd  its  knell, 
And  number'd  earthly  hours,  it  hastens  Heaven. 
An  early  death-bed  is  an  early  Crown ! 
Now  unfulfiU'd  one  wish  alone  remains, — 
That  those  beloved  on  earth,  endear'd  by  bonds 
Defying  dissolution,  left  behind 
To  rough  the  winter's  blast,  may  soon  arise, 
The  deathless  glory  of  the  soul  to  share, 
"  Not  lost,  but  gone  before." 

Often  methinks 
Upon  the  striking  contrast  in  the  way 
That  Earth  and  Heaven  the  closing  scene  of  death 
Regard.     On  Earth, — a  spectacle  of  tears ! 
Bedew'd  each  cheek,  and  swollen  every  eye  3 
In  speechless  agony,  each  knee  is  bent 
Round  the  saint's  couch,  importunate  for  life, 
While  still  life's  pulses  beat.     In  Heaven^ — a 

prayer 
Is  utter'd  also  for  the  dying  one 
By  mightier  than  mortal  Intercessor ; 
Immanuel  pleads ;  but  His  is  not  the  prayer 
For  an  extension  of  the  transient  breath ; 
He  pleads  for  life  immortal  as  His  own. 


42 


THE  GOUED. 


While  from  below  ascend  the  burden'd  sighs 

Of  weeping  relatives,  ^tis  thus  He  prays : 

"  Father,  I  will  ! "    (Oh !  blessed  thought !  it  is 

The  will  of  dying,  ever-living  love ! 

Wlio  would  not  trust  it,  if  they  cannot  trace?) 

"  Father,  I  will  this  dying  sufferer 

I  have  redeem'd,  be  with  Me  where  I  am. 

To  share  the  glory  Thou  hast  given  Me." 

The  prayer  is  heard !     Omnipotence  responds— 

"Son,  Thou  art  ever  with  Me,  all  I  have 

Is  Thine."     To  execute  the  embassy, 

Eager,  a  glorious  retinue  attend. 

«  Go,  Angels,  — speed  ye  to  the  dying  pillow, 

And  waft  the  spirit  into  Abraham's  bosom ! " 

Say,  Mourner,  wouldst  thou  have  preferred  tnat 
heard 
Had  been  the  prayer  of  Earth,  or  that  of  Heaven? 
Eternal  bliss  deferr'd,  or  realised  ? 
The  Cross  continued,  or  the  Kingdom  wonT 
Warfare  protracted,  or  eternal  rest  ? 
Keep  in  abeyance  selfish  love,  and  say 
Wouldst  thou  arrest  these  bright  celestials. 
As  up  they  bear  their  trophy  to  the  skies, 


THE  GOUED. 


43 


And  bring  him  back  to  earth?     Couldst  thou 

entreat    • 
The  Righteous  Intercessor  to  revoke 
This  wondrous  "  will,"  and  at  the  gate  of  Heaven, 
When  Victory  was  bursting  on  his  lips. 
Recall  the  sainted  Pilgrim,  to  resume 
The  din  of  Battle,  and  the  Vale  of  Tears? 


'4 


** 


€^t  fmmt 


Your  fiery  trials,  followers  of  Him 

Who  was  "the  Man  of  Sorrows,"  deem  not  strange. 

"  No  Cross,  no  Crown !  "  the  motto  still  remains 

Of  every  Pilgrim ;  and  the  oracle 

Of  Heaven  is  unrepeal'd: — "Deny  thyself, 

Take  up  thy  Cross,  and  daily  follow  Me." 

'Tis  in  affliction's  furnace,  as  of  old. 

He  loves  to  choose  His  people ;  and  although 

These  desolating  trials  may  appear 

To  the  unthinking  crowd  inexplicable, 

Like  the  mysterious  column,  whose  red  glow 

Illumed  of  old  the  desert  wilderness 

To  cov'nant  Israel,  but  lent  no  ray 

Of  guiding  light  to  the  pursuing  hosts 

Of  Egypt, — so  before  a  wond'ring  world. 

Mystic  and  dark,  the  dealings  of  our  God 

Are  bright  with  mercy  to  His  chosen  ones, 

(44) 


THE  rUENACE. 


45 


The  emanations  of  eternal  love. 

Yes !  Blessed  Lord,  Thy  preciousness  and  grace 

Ne'er  can  the  Christian  estimate,  till  brought 

To  taste  the  bitter  cup  of  earthly  sorrow. 

Thy  Promises  how  wondrous !     Like  the  stars 

Sparkling  as  jewels  on  the  brow  of  Night, 

Invisible  until  the  orb  of  day 

Sinks  in  his  couch.     So  not  until  the  Sun 

Of  fondly-treasured  comforts  disappear, 

The  firmament  of  Truth  a  galaxy 

Displays  of  brilliant  promises,  which,  like 

The  glow-worm,  shine  most  brightly  in  the  dark. 


Bereaved  Mourner !  call'd  to  take  thy  stand 
Amid  the  scorching  flames,  didst  thou  not  see 
"  One  in  the  Furnace  like  the  Son  of  God," 
Whose  gracious  presence  caused  thee  pass  un- 
scathed 
The  fiery  ordeal  ?    Approach'd,  perchance. 
Trembling  with  awe,  like  those  who  "fear'd  to 

enter  " 
The  cloud  on  Tabor  j  yet,  on  ent'ring  it, 
What  sights  and  sounds  burst  on  their  ravished 
senses ! 


46 


THE  FURNACE. 


i\ 


A  Glorified  Redeemer! — vista-views 

Of  bliss! — each  tongue  exclaiming,  "Lord,  His 

good 
For  us  to  linger  here !  "     So  oft  when  calPd 
To  climb  the  Mount  of  Trial,  hast  thou  not 
Refreshing  hours  enjoy'd,  ev'n  in  the  cloud 
That  frown'd  in  terror  o'er  thee  ?     Did  not  here 
There  burst  on  thee  in  bright  apocalypse 
Resplendent  visions  of  redeeming  grace, 
The  antepast  of  Heaven ;  and  made  thee  feel 
Almost  in  love  with  grief,  because  unfolding 
So  much  more  of  thy  God  ?     The  countenance 
Of  earthly  relatives  may  be  withdrawn, 
As  was  the  voice  of  the  twin  delegates 
On  Tabor's  Mount ;  but,  like  the  '-  Three,"  thou  hast 
Thy  Best  Friend  left.  Dissolv'd  though  human  ties, 
Jesus  along  with  thee  the  Mount  descends, 
Vouchsafing  fellowship  that  knows  no  change. 
And  love  that  cannot  die  (consoling  words !)  — 
"  Lo !  '  I  am  with  you,  to  the  end  of  Time !  ^ " 


Fear  thou  not,  then,  this  Furnace,  for  HE  lightpi 


it. 


Not  to  destroy,  but  only  to  refine ; 


THE  FURNACE. 


47 


To  purify  the  gold,  and  purge  away 

The  dross,  and  fit  for  glory.     Wondrous  thought ! 

The  Great  Refiner  seated  by  the  Fires, 

Temp'ring  their  fury  !     Few  amid  the  throng 

Of  ransom'd  spirits  have  not  felt  their  power. 

Go  upwards ;  pass  along  their  bright  array, 

And  let  the  Blood-bought  myriads  themselves 

Bear  living  testimony.     One  can  tell : 

"  Once  was  I  ruining  my  precious  Soul ; 

Eternity  was  barter'd  for  the  baubles 

Of  a  vain,  transient  world.     God  struck  me  down , 

Blighted  my  prospects,  wither'd  up  my  gourds, 

Laid  my  clay-idols  in  their  mother  dust, 

And  o'er  the  precincts  of  a  happy  home 

Spread  the  eclipse  of  Death !     '  Deep  call'd  to 

deep.' 
Tear  follow'd  tear,  as  wave  succeeds  to  wave  j 
But  'All  is  well.'    Each  trial  did  but  sever 
The  earthly  tie,  to  rivet  me  to  Heaven — 
Shiver'd  the  reed,  to  bring  me  to  the  Rock, 
And  give  to  God  Himself  the  creature's  place !  " 
Another  one  can  tell :  "  I  lov'd  my  Gold ; 
Deified  Riches — made  my  idol  Mammon: 
God  wrote  its  Verdict :  '  Gold  which  perisheth ! 


I 


48 


THE  FUENACE. 


THE  FUENACE. 


4» 


It  mock'd  the  hand  which  grasp'd  it ;  but  its  loss 

Led  me  to  value  treasure  which  no  time 

Corrodes,  nor  moth  corrupts  j  laid  up  in  Christ 

'  Riches  unsearchable '  beyond  the  wealth 

Of  worlds !  "    Another  there  can  tell :   "  The  Sun 

Of  Earth  too  brightly  shone,  and  with  false  glow 

The  lustre  intercepted  of  a  land 

Whose  atmosphere  is  love.     Upon  a  couch 

Of  languishing  God  laid  me ;  weary  days 

And  nights  of  pain  were  mine.     Now  for  each 

stroke 
I  praise  Him !     It  was  needful  discipline — 
To  wean  my  spirit  from  the  shadowy  dreams 
Of  a  vain  world.    The  Harp  which  when  on  Earth, 
Broken  with  sorrow,  hung  upon  the  willows 
Tuneless  and  mute,  I  now  rejoice  to  sweep 
Its  new-strung  chords,  to  own  the  faithfulness 
And  love  which  wrung  each  tear-drop  from  my 

eye ! " 

Exceptions  rare  there  may,  indeed,  be  found 
To  this  appointed  discipline  of  Heaven. 
Some  gentle  spirit  purified  for  bliss, 
Not  in  the  Fire,  but  by  the  "  still  small  voice  " 


Of  love,  a  Jewel  for  Immanuel's  crown 
Prepared.     Of  old,  when  Salem's  Temple  rose 
In  strange  majestic  silence,  "  neither  hammer 
Nor  sound  of  axe,  nor  other  tool,  was  heard  " 
Within  the  stately  fabric :  So  at  times 
The  hammer  of  affliction  scarce  the  stone 
May  feel,  and  yet  'tis  polish'd  and  made  meet 
For  the  Great  Builder's  use ;  the  spirit  wafted, 
Like  Israel's  prophet  in  his  car  of  fire. 
Upwards  to  glory,  tasting  scarce  the  pangs 
Of  human  woe !     Unwonted  case !  to  reach 
The  heavenly  goal  uncover'd  with  the  scars 
Of  Earthly  Battle !     Christian  Combatant ! 
The  conflict  is  unchanged.    Who  would  the  path 
Of  suffering  avoid  his  Saviour  trod, 
Or  claim  immunity  from  woe,  when  HE 
Attain'd    His   crown  with   "garments    roU'd    in 
blood  "  ? 

Nowhere  canst  thou  so  magnify  thy  God 
As  in  the  Furnace-fires !     Submissive  tears 
Wrung  from  the  grieved  yet  unrepining  heart, 
In  silent  eloquence  proclaim  the  power 
Of  Christian  faith; — a  living  evidence 


' 


50 


THE  FURNACE. 


To  an  ungodly  world,  that  Gospel  peace 

Is  no  vague  theory.     Mourner  in  Zion ! 

In  this  thou  hast  a  mean  of  glorifying 

The  Lord  who  loved  thee  angels  cannot  have. 

Meek  acquiescence  is  a  grace  unknown 

In  Heav'n,  where  trial  enters  not.     No  cup 

Of  anguish'd  sorrow  there  to  drink,  no  tears 

Through  which  with  murmuring  lips  to  breathe, 

"  Father,  Thy  will  be  done ! "    Oh,  may'st  thou  not 

(If  thy  submission  has  one  Sinner  led 

To  magnify  the  grace  which  thee  sustained 

So  wondrously)  with  humble  praise  rejoice  ? 

And,  looking  forward  to  Eternity, 

Would  not  thy  sorest  tribulations  prove 

Their  own  best  recompence,  if,  through  the  years 

Of  never-ending  bliss,  one  voice  were  heard 

To  own  that  these  thy  Sorrows,  sanctified, 

Had  proved  the  means  of  leading  it  to  Heaven  ? 


Mine  be  the  Cross,  however  hard  to  bear ! 
Oh,  shall  I  not  be  willing  to  endure 
Whate'er  my  God  sees  meet  ?     How  many  plants 
Before  emitting  fragrance  must  be  bruised  ? 
So  must  the  soul.    Endure  I  rather  would 


THE  FURNACE. 


51 


The  sharpest  cuttings  of  the  pruning-knife — 
Be  stripp'd  of  all" I  have,  than  "left  alone," 
Abandon'd  Cumberer !     Yes,  rather  far 
Encounter  fiercest  hurricanes,  than  have 
The  bark  which  bears  immortal  destinies 
Lull'd  in  the  treach'rous  calm,  and  sufTer'd  there 
To  sleep  upon  its  shadows — fearful  prelude 
To  an  eternal  tempest !     Welcome  storm 
Which  sends  the  Christian  Pilot  to  his  knees, 
And,  in  a  midnight  of  tempestuous  gloom, 
Directs  the  eye  of  faith,  with  longing  gaze, 
Upon  the  Star  of  Bethlehem !     'Twas  not 
Until  the  wind  roused  in  tumultuous  wrath 
Gennesaret,  the  faithless  mariners 
Importunate  awoke  their  sleeping  Lord, 
And  forth  the  fiat  of  Omnipotence 
Lull'd  every  angry  wave.     Oh !  blessed  end 
Of  sanctified  affliction ;  brought  to  call 
Upon  our  Heavenly  Pilot,  and  to  listen 
The  Almighty  Mandate,  "  Peace ;  be  still ! " 


This  reconciles  to  every  tempest-shock : 
"  Each  crested  billow  wafts  me  nearer  rest ! " 
Safe  in  that  haven  which  no  wave  disturbs. 


62 


THE  FURNACE. 


The  retrospect  of  life's  disquietudes 

Will  then  unfold  a  "  need  be  "  in  each  storm, — 

Unmingled  mercy  in  each  falling  tear. 

Yes,  gracious,  precious  drops  !    I  grudge  not  one ; 

Dimming  the  eye  to  a  dark  land  of  Shadows, 

But  bright  with  sunshine  from  a  tearless  world, 

Where  the  same  gentle  hand  which  made  them 

flow 
In  tenderness  shall  wipe  them  all  away  ! 

Then  shall  the  lacerating  thorn  be  weaved 
Amid  the  dearest  laurels  of  my  crown ; 
The  brightest  gem  which  sparkles  there  shall  own 
Affliction's  polish ;  and  th'  Eternal  Song 
Shall  louder,  deeper,  and  still  deeper  roll 
By  reason  of  such  sorrows,  whose  existence, 
Weigh'd  in  the  Scales  of  Immortality, 
Shall  then  appear  but  light  and  momentary. 
And  an  amount  of  glory  "working  out," 
Beyond  what  "eye  hath  seen  or  heart  conceived." 


€^t  lolttfL 


When  through  the  desert's  arid  wastes  of  old 
Journey'd  the  tribes  of  Israel,  with  what  strains 
Of  gratitude  the  fainting  thousands  hail'd 
Elim's  twelve  fountains !     Undemeath  the  shade 
Of  the  umbrageous  palm  (Nature's  own  tent) 
They  bathed  their  parched  brows.     From  every 

tongue 
Arose  the  hymn  of  praise.     The  cloudy  pillar 
Conducted  once  the  parched  host  beside 
One  brook  less  favour'd.     Yet,  though  only  onCj 
Elim's  twelve  fountains  often  seem'd  forgotten. 
While  Marah  linger'd  in  ungrateful  hearts. 
Bereaved  Christian !  has  thy  Covenant  God 
Placed  thee  beside  some  Marah ;  caused  thee  drink 
Some  stream  of  earthly  woe  ?  Say,  shall  one  draught 
Of  bitter  trial  bury  in  oblivion 
The  record  of  past  mercies,  —  rill  on  rill 

(53) 


I 


54 


THE  SOLACE. 


THE  SOLACE. 


55 


■it 


Of  providential  bounties  which  were  made 

To  cheer  thy  path  ?     Oh !  rather  while  thou  sitt'st 

In  solitary  sadness  brooding  o'er 

Thy  brook  of  Sorrow,  let  thy  memory  dwell 

On  the  ten  thousand  wells  of  earthly  bliss 

Which  crowd  life's  retrospect :  the  Ebenezers, 

Each  with  its  own  inscription,  testifying 

To  God's  unchanging  faithfulness  and  mercy. 

Yes ;  while  thy  Marah  has  been  only  owe, 

Are  not  thine  Elims  many  ?     And  instead 

Of  wond'ring  at  His  dealings,  rather  wonder 

The  past  should  teem  with  pledges  of  such  love 

All  undeserved  !     For  if  His  thoughts  had  been 

As  are  thy  thoughts,  His  ways  as  are  thy  ways, 

How  different  its  annals  !     Oh !  if  sin 

Received  its  due,  thy  tears  would  never  dry ; 

If  justice  had  been  laid  unto  the  line. 

There  had  been  weeping  which  eternity 

Could  ne'er  have  ended ! 

Hush'd,  then,  be  thy  grief. 
What,  after  all,  the  heaviest  of  thy  pangs  ? 
There  might  have  beat  within  thy  deathless  spirit 
The  pulse  of  Immortality  undone, 


And  thine  awaking  from  the  bed  of  death 
Have  been  in  outer  darkness !     Pause  and  think  • 
Thou  might'st  have  drunk  the  Marah  of  despair, 
The  gall  and  wormwood  mingling  in  its  streams ! 
Fear  not  the  Marah-fountain,  which,  in  love, 
Thy  God  appoints  thee.    As  His  pillar  led 
The  hosts  of  Israel  thitherf  be  assured, 
For  some  high  purpose  has  He  brought  thee  there. 
And  if  thou  wouldst,  like  Israel,  transmute 
From  bitter  into  sweet  this  pool  of  sorrow. 
Cast  in  the  Tree  of  Life  !    Oh !  blessed  antidote 
To  every  bitter  cup  and  bitter  hour ! 
Jesus  !  one  ray  of  Thine  approving  smile 
Can  change  the  gloom  of  midnight  into  day, 
And  make  the  gate  of  death  the  gate  of  Heaven ! 

But  does  no  solace  still  remain  to  cheer, 
Mourner,  thine  alter'd  lot  ?  What !  has  the  scourge, 
The  besom  of  destruction,  left  behind 
No  earthly  comfort  to  support  the  heart 
So  rudely  swept  ?     And  art  thou  doom'd  to  sit 
Brooding  disconsolate  amid  the  dust 
And  ashes  of  thy  woe  ?    Nay ;  while  thou  tunest 
Thy  mournful  Lyre  to  sing  in  plaintive  strains 


56 


THE  SOLACE. 


THE  SOLACE. 


57 


Of  Judgment,  thou  canst  sing  of  Mercy  too ! 
Ne'er  does  the  heart,  till  wounded,  prize  its  bless- 
ings. 
One  rill  has  dried,  one  source  (perchance  the  chief) 
Of  earthly  pleasure  suddenly  has  faiPd ; 
But  streams  before  unthought  of,  unobserved 
And  unacknowledged^claim  thy  gratitude. 
While  one  beloved  tie  has  been  dissever'd, 
Are  there  not  hallow'd  friendships  still  surviving, 
To  mitigate  thy  sorrows  1  precious  bonds, 
Approximating  closer  by  each  loss 
Of  broken  links  1    Are  there  not  many  drops 
Of  mercy  mingled  in  thy  draught,  enough 
To  check  each  rising  murmur,  and  to  tell 
How  much  severer  might  have  been  thy  pangs 
Had  God  so  will'd  ?     Consider  how  He  might 
Have  mix'd  the  cup  with  anguish,  far  beyond 
The  reach  of  tears — refusing  sympathy  ! 
Ah !  there  are  speechless  sorrows,  cutting  wounds, 
Too  deep  for  solace  !  —  lacerated  hearts 
Bleeding  in  secret  over  woes  they  dare  not 
Confide  to  earthly  ears ;  and,  worst  of  all, 
There  is  the  heaviest  of  affliction's  pangs, 
The  pang  of  watching  by  the  dying  couch. 


At  which  you  dare  not  feel  "  To  die  is  gain." 

The  hopes  of  Immortality  proscribed  ! 

The  Spirit  ent'ring  the  realities 

Of  an  undone  eternity.    Dread  thought ! 

A  thousand  deaths  (if  the  sweet  sleep  of  Saints 

Can  be  so  called)  is  nothing  to  one  such ! 

Mourner  in  Zion,  then,  be  comforted : 
Thou  hast  no  cause  to  weep  for  the  departed. 
Mourn  not  their  loss ;  rejoice  thou  in  their  gain ; 
For  they  are  to  be  envied  who  have  fallen 
"  Asleep  in  Jesus."     Earthly  ties  are  broken. 
Only  to  draw  thee  nearer  to  the  Skies, 
By  everlasting  cords  of  sacred  love. 
Leading  affection  to  associate 
Sweetly  in  thought  a  glorified  Redeemer 
With  those  now  at  His  side !     Repose  on  Him 
Who  still  vouchsafes  unnumber'd  benefits. 
The  Hand  that  smites  is  able,  too,  to  heal ; 
And  in  His  very  smiting  there  is  all 
A  Father's  tenderness.     Thy  cup  is  still 
Full  to  the  brim  with  blessings  infinite ; 
"  Double  for  all  thy  sins,  thou  hast  received. " 
Adore  Him  for  the  past,  and  for  the  future 


I 

I 


i 


58 


THE  SOLACE. 


Cheerfully  trust  Him.    Thou  hadst  but  a  loan, — 
No  more ;  and  if  the  Great  Proprietor 
Sees  meet  the  boon  He  lent  thee  to  recall, 
Becomes  it  thee  to  murmur  ?     Rather  own 
His  undeserved  kindness,  that  thou  art 
Preserved  from  day  to  day,  and  hour  to  hour, 
The  monument  of  God's  forbearing  love  ; 
That  He  has  not,  ere  now,  pronounced  against 

thee 
The  Cumb'rer's  sentence  and  his  awful  doom. 
With  righteous  vengeance,    "  Swearing   in   His 

wrath 
That  thou  shouldst  never  enter  into  Rest !  " 


t  Crntttn. 


Oh  !  blessed  Morn,  Creation's  Jubilee ! 
The  Bridal  hour  of  a  triumphant  Church ! 
Birthday  of  endless  glory !  when  the  roll 
Of  earthly  Providence  shall  be  unfolded 
Before  a  wond'ring  Heaven ;  and  '"  in  Thy  light, 
0  God !  we  shall  see  light."   The  Night  of  weeping 
Lost  in  the  splendours  of  a  perfect  Day ! 
Floods  of  surpassing  lustre  pour'd  upon 
Dealings  inscrutable  !     The  retrospect 
Of  life's  vicissitudes  replete  with  love 
And  cov'nant  faithfulness.     Each  burden'd  tear 
Acknowledged  needful  discipline !     The  cloud 
Whose  black'ning  front  portended  while  below 
Nothing  but  angry  tempest,  proved  to  be 
Surcharged  alone  with  mercy  in  disguise ; 
The  wheels  of  Providence  revolving  nought 
But  good !     Each  aspect  of  Jehovah's  ways 
Causing  the  heart  to  bound  with  holier  joy, 
The  tongue  to  thrill  with  louder  notes  of  praise — 

(59) 


60 


THE   CROWN. 


An  ever-deepening  anthem ;  like  the  song 
Heard  by  the  Seer  of  Patmos  j  as  Eternity, 
With  its  unending  ages  onward  rolls, 
The  Hallelujah,  syllabled  in  whispers, 
Increases  to  a  deep  harmonious  swell — 
"  The  voice  of  many  people ; "  deeper  still — 
Till,  like  "the  sound  of  a  Great  Multitude;" 
And  yet  still  deeper — like  the  gushing  noise 
"  Of  many  waters ; "  till  the  augmenting  chorus 
Equals  the  roar  of  "  mighty  thunderings," 
And  onward  rolls  the  pealing  "  Alleluia ! 
Amen !     Omnipotent  Jehovah  reigns ! " 


"  There  shall  be  No  Night  there !  "     Oh,  cheer- 
ing thought ! 
No  night  of  Ignorance — which  oft  on  Earth 
Gives  birth  to  unbelief,  and  makes  the  heart 
Refuse  to  bow  submissive  to  the  Rod, 
And  own  its  just  infliction,  because  seen 
Through  a  distorted  medium !     There  shall  be 
No  night  of  Sorrow  there ;  no  bleeding  hearts ; 
No  sudden  blighting  of  life's  fairest  prospects : 
No  chilling  penury  to  freeze  its  bliss  ! 
Tear-drops  all  dried,  and  anguish  all  forgotten; 


THE  CROWN. 


61 


Or,  if  remember'd,  only  like  a  dream 
Or  feverish  vision  of  some  sleepless  hour; 
The  recollection  of  the  night  of  woe 
Enhancing  all  the  more  the  joys  of  morn ! 
No  night  of  Death  is  there ;  no  sever'd  ties ; 
No  rifled  households,  and  no  sad  farewells ; 
No  tear  of  Widowhood  to  dim  the  eye ; 
No  open'd  graves.     No  night  of  Sin  is  there ; 
No  more  corruptions  chaining  down  the  soul, 
Hamp'ring  its  energies,  the  fertile  cause 
Of  all  the  sufferings  of  a  suffering  world. 
Which  makes  the  Christian  Pilgrim  feel  his  path. 
From  first  to  last,  a  toilsome  battle-field —    , 
No  rest  till  Death  discharge  him.     But  in  Heaven 
The  trumpet  peal  is  mute.    The  warrior  there 
His  armour  cast  aside — the  conflict's  done — 
The  Victory  achieved !     Faith  lost  in  sight. 
And  Hope  in  full  fruition !     This,  for  Ever  ! 
Oh,  wondrous  words !     Glory  to  know  no  end ! 
Oceans  of  Joy,  unbounded  by  a  shore  ! 
For  Ever  !    'Tis  Eternity  !  —  "  the  life-time 
Of  the  Almighty !  " —  Christian,  thine  existence  is 
Commensurate  with  that  of  God  Himself ! 
One  Endless  Sabbath — and  that  Sabbath — Love! 


62 


THE  CROWN. 


Teach  me  to  live  the  heir  of  such  a  world : 
Thankful  to  bear  my  Cross  for  such  a  Crown ; 
Content  to  steer  the  shatter'd  bark  of  life 
To  reach  a  port  like  this.     And  though  the  past 
With  warning  voice  prepares  me  to  expect 
The  night  of  trial  here ;  yet  still  let  Faith, 
Stretching  her  eye  beyond  life's  dim  horizon, 
Rest  on  the  brighter  shores,  and  many  mansions. 
And  better  Friend  above  !     Be  this  my  beacon. 
Wooing  me  onwards,  buffeting  the  storm — 
"Mourner,  there  is  no  night  of  Trial  there  !  '^ 

But  who  can  dare  to  lift  the  hidden  veil 
Inscrutable,  which  hides  from  mortal  gaze 
That  festival  of  bliss  ?     "  Eye  hath  not  seen, 
Nor  ear  hath  heard,  nor  human  heart  conceived  " 
Its  wonders.     God  himself  the  "  All  in  All ! " 
The  focus  of  a  Light  ineffable, 
To  which,  the  origin  and  end  of  all, 
Each  lesser  ray  of  glory  will  converge. 
The  myriad  blood-bought  worshippers  engaged 
In  pondering  His  searchless  attributes, 
Or  mystic  secrets  of  Incarnate  love. 
For,  lo !  in  midst  of  the  Eternal  Throne, 


THE  CROWN. 


63 


Stands  there  "  a  Lamb  as  if  it  had  been  slain ! " 
Its  scars  and  blood-rharks  eloquently  speak 
To  an  adoring  Heaven !     The  ransom'd  throng 
Scaling  its  heights  and  fathoming  its  deeps, 
Unfolding  new  discoveries  of  grace 
And  mercy  infinite !     The  mighty  Problem 
Still  unexplored  and  inexplorable. 
Elicits  the  confession  —  "  Oh,  the  depth ! " 

Oh !  come,  sweet  heavenly  dawn !    bright  day 
of  peace, 
A  halcyon  reign  of  cloudless,  tearless  bliss ! 
One  everlasting  summer,  with  no  winter ! 
No  killing  frosts  to  mock  the  reaper's  hopes. 
Or  mar  his  joyous  song  !     One  endless  morning, 
Stranger  to  night !     Each  ransom'd  spirit,  like 
Some  peerless  orb  of  light,  up  climbing  high 
A  boundless  fimianit^Rt,  t>ut  HeJeiS-at^aiif  \    \     /• 
Its  full  meridian,!*  'O^ke  tXre6. of  Life  '.  ••'    !  •'  "• 
Waving  immortal  fragrance,  ancj  i^s  fr^it?  , , ,  ,    , 
Perennial!     EachlfoJ-nvorji  ■vyarrloj'  /••/,     I     *.' 
Of  earth,  his  forenead  laving  with  the  stream 
Which  rolls  its  crystal  \v;^t^rs; from  &e  Ti;rohe»' 
Of  God  and  of  thfe,  Laftilt,  .thete' washing  off    ^ 


64 


THE  CKOWN. 


The  blood  and  dust  of  battle,  and  exchanging 
The  Pilgrim  armour  for  the  Pilgrim  rest ! 


Oh,  come,  thou  blessed  Haven  of  repose, 
Where  not  one  wave  of  trouble  e'er  shall  roll ! 
How  do  I  wish  these  gloomy  waters  pass'd. 
To  feel  secure  within  thy  stormless  shelter ! 
Wave  upon  wave  is  sweeping  over  me. 
But,  oh !  thrice  blessed  thought,  they  drive  me  no* 
Amid  the  quicksands  and  the  eddying  currents 
I  leave  behind  :  each  in  succession  wafts  me 
Nearer  and  nearer  to  that  blissful  shore. 
Lo !  I  already  see  the  shining  cliffs 
And  glitt'ring  Temples  in  the  dim  horizon ; 
I  hear  the  cadence  of  no  earthly  music 
Fall  on  my  ravish'd  Ear!  — It  is— it  is 
The  anthem  peal  of  glory !  thrilling  chorus  ! 
A<if  teri  thoJjFsatncl.  tijnes;  teii  .thou^sand  harps 
Wepe  ^tniiigUo  rohn'axijB: mighty, orchestra, 
,WakiiJg.tHp  Ephoqs  of  Eternity! 

a  Gdd ! :  i  t^^rinC't  listen  •to-.tke  tKuriders ! 

Hush'd  be  the  music  of  iriy  earthly  strains. 


Ajid'leftlie  ehoir^'df  H^avjen  ta^e  up 

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